Page 32 of Aries

“Yes. I’m desperate, little Callista. Just to make sure you’re as desperate as me, I’ll say one more thing, and then we can go to sleep. I remember…” I let my voice dip low, so she has to ease closer to hear the rest. “I remember what it’s like to be inside you, Callie.”

She gasps for the first time tonight, that sound she makes when she’s close to release.

“It’s warm and sweet and like heaven and home at the same time.”

Her pupils widen as her lips pop open.

“And if they decide to put me to death, Callie, that is what I’ll be thinking about with my last breath.”

Chapter Eighteen

Callie

The crowd’s angry murmur fills the ceremonial amphitheater, a sharp contrast to the serene flute music meant to set the mood for the Unity Dance we’re here to perform. We’ve been practicing the exacting steps for days, knowing that one wrong move in the intricate routine could cause Aries’ death. I’ve never felt this much pressure in my life.

Days have passed since the storm that changed everything between us, and now, through the gauzy curtain separating the waiting area from the exhibition hall, I catch glimpses of protest signs: “Justice Not Romance” and “Killers Can’t Buy Love.”

At the front of the crowd stands a woman with graying hair and a face carved by grief. She holds a holographic image of a young man, her son, killed in the same arena where Aries once fought. She’s become the unofficial spokesperson for the opposition, her loss giving weight to their anger.

“My name is Mira Thessian. My boy died screaming on the sands of an arena,” she calls out, her voice carrying over the murmur. “While killers like him lived to fight another day. Where’s the justice in that?”

But as she speaks, I notice something else in the crowd—a small group holding different signs: “Redemption Over Vengeance” and “Breaking the Cycle.” A middle-aged Sanctorii male steps forward.

“My daughter was a gladiator,” he says, his blue skin pale with emotion. “She died in the same system that created him. But killing him won’t bring her back. Maybe changing him will prevent the next death.”

Mira’s face contorts with fury. “Easy words from someone whose child chose that life!”

“No one chooses slavery,” the male responds quietly. “That’s the point.”

“Bigger turnout than expected,” one of the Committee members interrupts, their crystalline form reflecting the arena’s harsh lights. “We have doubled security, but you must maintain absolute focus on the dance. Any mistake—”

“Means a mark,” Aries finishes quietly beside me. “We know.”

His massive frame radiates tension, though his face remains carefully neutral. The ceremonial garments—embroidered flowing silver fabric that will catch the light during our dance—make him look otherworldly. His horns juxtaposed against the formal styling look like gleaming bronze sculptures, but I can’t reach out to touch them as I ache to do.

A commotion erupts in the crowd. Through the curtain, I see security wrestling with someone who tried to climb the barrier separating spectators from the dance floor. The protester’s shouts echo through the space: “Murderers don’t deserve second chances! Justice for victims!”

Aries’ hands clench at his sides. Without thinking, I step closer—not touching, but near enough that he can feel my presence and support.

“They don’t know you,” I murmur. “Don’t know what really happened.”

“Don’t they?” His voice holds a bitter edge. “A life was taken by these hands. Their anger isn’t wrong. It isn’t misdirected.”

Before I can respond, the ceremonial gong sounds. Our turn to dance—to prove our connection worthy of redemption as a crowd that wants Aries dead watches with condemning eyes.

The curtain parts. Walking onto the polished obsidian floor feels like entering an arena. In many ways, it is—one wrong move could bring Aries one step closer to death, just as surely as any gladiator match.

We take our positions as the music shifts to the haunting melody that will guide our dance. The first pose—arms reaching without touching—draws jeers from some in the crowd.

“Fraud!” someone shouts. “How much did he pay you?”

Focus, I tell myself. The dance is everything. Each movement must be perfect.

We begin the first spiral, arms weaving the ancient patterns that symbolize separation and yearning. Aries moves with his natural grace, matching me step for step. Just like in practice, but now with hundreds of hostile eyes watching for any mistake.

The Lament sequence brings us back-to-back, arms reaching up and out while maintaining that crucial inch of space. A stone arcs through the air, missing us by inches. Security moves to intercept the thrower, but we can’t react. Can’t let anything break our focus.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Aries murmurs as we turn to face each other again. “Nothing else exists.”

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